Must have fort
I've always had an obsession with forts. Something about the idea of being in a little enclosed area where I am protected from everything and that I have everything I need (suprisingly I am also claustrophobic). No bad guys could possibly get me in my fort. Two antennas got married. The wedding was terrible but the reception was great. So they watched the O.C.
For this reason I like to be in the most fortlike location as possible in any place. For example, at Nando's I like to sit in the end counter, closest to the wall. So when I was at home today I thought I'd build a classic will-fort out of pillows. Here is what I came up with:
Impenetrable! Sturdy! Maybe I should become an architect!
Hahaha not even attacking Daewoo dogs (Daewoofs?) can get me!
Possibly one of my most humiliating stories is the one about how I failed my P-plate driving test on my 17th birthday. I had been taking driving lessons every week and I was so excited about finally being able to drive (and listen to music in the car, my dad had the best cd player in his car) by myself! What a birthday present! So I turned up for the exam, totally nervous, yet prepared. And I did the test flawlessly... everything was perfect, 3 point turns, lane changing... even reverse parking (no kerb!). It was the toughest 40 minutes of my life, but I did it. Well... except for one thing. I didn't stop at the stop sign in the RTA testing place as I was leaving the complex, 20 seconds after I started the test. I had failed before I even began! Argh! The most scarring moment of my life. I had to wait 2 months before I could do the test again.
A horse walked into a bar and the bartender said "OMG CAPTAIN OATS!".
And now I know the reason I failed that test. I had been misled all my life about the concept behind stop signs. Their very shape encouraged me to do speed up. I have proof! Look what has been at the bottom of my driveway since I was a child:
I should have argued I was psychologically unable to complete my test!
Well I love my pink nails. And my pink converses. And my pink shirts. And my soon-to-be-acquired pink skeleton tie. Of course I consider myself to be a manly (not Manly) man. But it appears I am misled in this assumption. Look what I found today:
Oh no. I'm fucked now aren't I?
9 Comments:
Woo! I'm starting a dot-com business! You have to teach me how to post pictures!
Hey you can only see my left leg and arm! That doesn't constitute me. I am more than my left leg and arm Scott! Damn you it's the truth. Articulate!
Alice, to post images your write < img src="URL LOCATION OF IMAGE" > if LiveJournal supports html, which I'm sure it must. Your dot com business will be a roaring success I'm sure... you are a jeanius... ack.
Not only am I a jeanius, I am also a jeanie in a bottle, a jean therapist, jeanetic engineer, the jeaneral manager of a shop and a jeanerally nice gal.
You are pinktastic. Pink! Like punk, only gone through the cycle with a red tee-shirt.
Don't forget that you are a super fly stud, that you are more than you seam. You make dogs pant. You little ripper. Definitley not the lowest deniminator.
I dye laughing. a hem, let me clear my throat. You're a sassy guy when you bide your time. Certainly shook me out of my blues. You're so funny you should levi taxes. I wonder if it's the way you were brought up, or whether your punability is just jeans.
Write on! I don't know why you are being so slacks to me. You must think I'm a (panta)loony. Whoops, I am a bit Straussed out. I have a lot of pen-t up rage. I may just have to zip out of work and leg it to the store. I should hurry, a stitch in time saves nine!
Wow Stonewash the crows. This is a dark denim side of you I'm never seen before. No need to be so acid, you pantaloonatic. I've hear tall-waisted tales before about men of your cut. They all ended by flaring up and hitting rock bellbottom.
Well denimstrated! Oh how I des-pair. If you continue to belt me like this then I may just buckle under the pressure. I guess I am just not fit enough. I had something wittier but then had to re-boot(cut) my computer.
Don't dress pair. Even if you are running out of ins-pairation, you'll come up with something on the fly.
Post a Comment
<< Home